Not Easy
by tarajcl
Summary: Gangrene Gang fic. No Puffs, no Ruffs, no plot. Just a few vignettes for the green ones. Possible overtones of slash. Roast me to a crisp, baby.
1. Chapter 1

Bought to you by gem squash. So, I, uh, thought I'd try my had at PPG fic. Naturally, my brain was cool with this, provided that said fic did not, in fact, contain any actual PPGS. Go figure. SO. The end result; no PPGs, no RRBs, no OCs, no 'major' villains and not much in the way of vitamins and fibre either. Starting off with...Arturo!

Disclaimer: All characters contained within the following ficlet belong to Cartoon Network/ Craig McCracken. Except Snake's hat. That is mine.

_gangrene(n): decay of body tissue, resulting from either obstructed circulation or infection._

The Battlefield

Arturo was busy tending to Maria.

Maria's welfare was something that required about seven minutes of his time, every morning and night. A sacrifice, sure, but what else did one do for love?

Currently, he was finishing off his duties with a small corner of cloth and spittle. He'd already checked her smooth edges for scratches and removed loose strands of her caught between her teeth. Now he polished her handle, removing all dust and smudges left by his fingertips. Behind him, the highway lit up.

There was a soft, choked cry, borne from adrenaline rather than pain. The sound of the approaching motor became louder with frightening speed before the car roared past. Pausing in lavishing attention, Arturo perked up his ears in a manner similar to a terminal cancer patient waiting to hear how much longer they had to live. The moment the car had disappeared, hooting as it did, cheers erupted from the side of the road.

Arturo smiled. It seemed that Lady Luck was with them tonight.

He turned and took in the scenery. As it was almost midnight and darker than a prostitute's lipstick, there wasn't much to see. By the fading taillights of the car, he could just make out Ace and Grubber's gleaming eyes, and the edge of Snake's teeth. His hearing was abnormally good, and he could make out the whispered congratulations being awarded to Grubber. Ace was giving a small, sardonic round of applause.

Big Billy sat sulking on a disused tire a little way away. This was one game he was always firmly excluded from.

Which was common sense, as far as Arturo could see. If his lumbering comrade tried to participate in _this _method of entertainment, someone would die. Probably whoever crashed into him.

Giving Maria a final, professional once-over, Arturo snapped her back into her smooth handle, and slid her back into his inner pocket. He made his way to the battlefield.

Grubber, bizarrely, was the best at this one. Despite his affected hunch and his odd, staggered way of walking, Arturo had seen him in action often enough to know that Grubber was greased lightning when he chose to be. Ace was second best, a fact that, Arturo suspected, irritated their leader enormously. Snake was third. He was last.

Which didn't mean that he was slow. The others had made allowances for his shorter legs, and had permitted an extra three seconds to start running, as, as Arturo maintained, if he was just a little taller, he'd leave them all in the dust. Considered as ounce-for-ounce, Arturo was the fastest of them all.

And it was his turn.

Ace smirked from the other side at him as he approached the road. "Yer sure yer okay with this?" he called across.

Arturo nodded, ignoring the jibe. It was only teasing. Ace knew very well how 'okay' he was with this.

Another car was coming. Wearing an expression of calm concentration, the Spanish boy crouched down, feeling, for an instant, absurdly like a hare or a small cat. A cat, perhaps, with an exaggerated underbite and really, really good hair.

Headlights appeared, needle sharp but growing steadily brighter. Steadily, but also quickly. Arturo grinned. It appeared that nothing was going under seventy tonight. Including his heartbeat, of course. He could see his own skin, glowing green as the convertible approached, bathing the pavement gold and shooting weird edges of light off of the assorted litter on either side of the road.

The car was either white or yellow, he couldn't decide which because Ace yelled, **_"NOW!"_** and he was bolting for his life, short legs moving as quickly as they ever had. Blood rushed past his ears, completely unnoticed by the rest of him, which waseerily calm and focused solely on the other side. His heartbeat screamedin his chest. Little things came to his attention; the moonless sky and the way the road feltunder his soles; dry and hard. Later, he would notice, as would Ace and the others, that their clothes weresoaked through with sweat. It was not, right then, a matter of much importance.A horn blared, the rest of them hollered encouragement and he found himself in a world that was completely, incredibly golden, a world that was, sadly, getting to be far too bright and far too loud for his tastes.

He put on a final burst of speed and felt his feetmeet dust instead of tarmac. Behind him, a horn blared for all it was worth as the gleaming car shot by, its owner screaming obscenities.

Cheers, applause and the gang was around him, laughing like ravens.

"NICE one, Arturo!"

"Almosssst got you that time-sss!"

"Phbbbbt!"

"BILLY WANNA PLAY!"

He bowed to his audience, who applauded.

"Okay, who wants the next one? No, not you, Billy."

"Me! Me! Pleasssse, Accce, me!"

"Phhbbt pbbbt!"

"D'AH, BILLY WANNNA-…"

Arturo reached into his pocket, gave Maria a quick kiss when they weren't looking and ran her through his hair. He loved this game.


	2. Balancing Act

Anyone who doubts that Snake wears lipstick, look really closely at a screenshot next time.

Told you.

((glomps reviewers))

Balancing Act

Ace's first ever words to Snake had been, "Y'know, most people try _lifting_ their feet. Yikes, can't you walk right?"

Accompanied by a quizzical look shot at him over the rims of the older boy's shades, it was one of the friendliest overtures he had ever been given.

Snake's first words to Ace, predictably, had been, "No. What's-ss-sss it to you?"

Then Ace had burst out laughing, saying that he even talked like a "weird lizard or sumthin'". Hopping down from the wall he'd been lolling upon, he'd walked up, stuck out a hand and introduced himself then and there. Further sniggering ensued when Snake, who had jerked back in thorough anticipation of a punch, stared at the outstretched palm in astonishment.

What confused Snake about that meeting now was this; the first thing he'd noticed about Ace hadn't been the green skin. It had been his eyebrows.

_The boy is a headcase, but the boy has some im-press-ive eyebrows._

He hit the ledge hard, bruising the palms of both hands, and spun round. Panted breath came in short hisses between his teeth, making him sound even more uncannily similar the reptile Ace had named him after. Kicking off with one foot, he launched himself across the rink once more.

_Two more laps, then I'll quit._

He didn't know how he did it. Arturo had remarked before on his serpentine friend's impeccable balance, but was unable to come up with a reason for it. Certainly, while walking, he was nothing to look at. His posture was atrocious, shoulders slumping so far back that his feet tended to arrive at most places long before the top half of him did.

Unable to skid to a halt in time, he smacked into the opposite ledge so hard he almost toppled over. Regaining balance in a slithering movement, he righted himself and shot off again, headed full speed for the other side.

_Okay, make that four more laps._

The Townsville Ice Rink was a disheartening place at the best of times. The one at the mall was larger and better-lit, but it was usually too crowded for his tastes on a Saturday. Like most of the Gang, when he wasn't surrounded by the others, he preferred to be alone.

He hit, with decidedly more finesse this time, turned and began a fifth lap.

_If I ever do get into drugs-s-s_, he thought, adding the hiss to his thoughts out of habit,_ it'll probably take a bullet to the head to get me to quit._

He grinned nastily at this, black-smeared lips parting to reveal teeth that always struck onlookers as a bit too big for his mouth. His compulsive tendencies had earned him a generous amount of ribbing from Arturo, although Ace let them pass with no more than his typical supply of jibes.

_A bullet…or possibly just Ace with a lead pipe._

On impulse, he tried to do a spin, got his legs tangled and fell upon the ice in a heap, with an undignified 'smack'. After a healthy amount of cussing, he stared thoughtfully up at the strobe lights.

_Ace…with his eyebrows._

Footsteps approaching, and he was one his feet quicker than a cobra. Slatted, dully red eyes scanning the entrance, he spotted the one who had invaded the chilly sanctuary. Not the boy, with or without his eyebrows, but Arturo. The shortest Gangrene nodded as he saw Snake spot him. He was pulling himself up onto one of the stands as Snake smacked inelegantly against the perimeter yet again. Balance, Snake could do; stopping took a little more practise.

"Hey Snake."

"Hi, Arturo. Where's-ss the others-ss-s?"

"Mini-mall. Bowling. Billy's visiting his aunt. And Ace tried to get into the casino without ID again. He got thrown halfway across the street."

Snake snickered.

_Ouchies-ss._

"If we hurry, we can fish some quarters out of the fountain while the security guards change shift."

Finishing unlacing his skates, Snake tugged them off and replaced his boots. That done, he returned them to the locker he'd found them in, snapping open the ten-for-two padlock with practised ease. He'd thought often of just snatching a pair for himself, but that would probably lead to an increase in security. And that would inevitably lead to the Girls, which would, in turn, end in a headache, a split-lip and all-over bruising. This was safer.

Pausing only to adjust the angle of his hat, he took a replacement lock from his pocket and clicked it into place. Perfect. Hissing softly, he followed after Arturo, shoulders instantly dropping into a carefree slouch.

Twenty seconds after the door had been slammed behind them, the lights fizzled and went out.

* * *

"Would you put that stupid thing down? Yer gonna get sick." 

Snake spared him but a glance and a grin, before returning to the small rodent busy scurrying up his shoulder. It ran across his neck, fur tickling his collarbone.

"It's-ss a mous-_ss-s_e. Mice are clean-_sss_."

He wasn't entirely sure if that was true, but he remembered reading somewhere that some or other small rat-like creature was more clean than other small rat-like creatures. Mice or hamsters, one of them. He didn't really care if the small brown mammal was carrying rabies or malaria or the freakin' plague. He liked mice. Despite a penchant for cruelty towards animals -cats especially, to a degree that even grossed Arturo out- he didn't touch mice, except to play with them.

Ace watched, mouth pulling into a grimace that showed off a carefully filled tooth.

"You're not gonna do anything weird with that thing, are ya?" he asked after a moment.

"Like what, Ac_cc_e?" the sixteen-year old enquired, retrieving the mouse from under his shirt.

"Like…eat it or anything?"

Snake threw two things at him; a glare and the mouse. The latter bounced into the taller boy's lap, squeaked piteously and shot out from under his legs. Ace yelped and leapt up with comical speed, yelling, "_Oh my_…get it OFF! Snake, you _moron_!"

Already beset by hysterical hiss-like giggling, Snake shot to his feet and ran for his life, an infuriated Ace in tow.

When the customary black eye had been administered and a dutiful apology had been given, they made their way to the arcade, which served as a default meeting place when nothing else had been planned for the day. Going via the park, they paused only to point out to a couple of kids that handing over their weekly allowances really would be the charitable thing to do (a dangerously stupid move, but the temperature was too high for Snake to care. Ace commended the dispirited youngsters with a hearty 'Thanks, kids!" and a salute.) Financial matters covered, they acquired two sodas and drank them slowly as they walked, ignoring the occasionally strange and occasionally fearful looks of the few others who were foolish enough to be out in this heat.

Snake said suddenly, "Hey, Accce?"

"Yeah?"

"You know how to ssskate?"

Arching one impressive eyebrow in confusion, Ace said, "What?"

"Iccce-_sss_kating. You know how?"

"Why the heck would I know-…Why the heck would I _want_ to know how to skate on some stupid ice?"

"Ah, no reason." Snake returned his attention to his soda.

The other three were already at the arcade, Grubber and Arturo taking turns at a mini-basketball set and Big Billy playing with a yo-yo that some turkey had been dumb enough to give him. Upon noticing their arrival, the red-head broke into huge grin.

"D'ah…hi, guys."

"Hey Ace. Hey Snake", greeted Arturo, still concentrating on his throw.

"Phhhbt!"

Ace smirked, nodded his greetings and patted Billy's shoulder. Big Billy's smile became even wider, as it tended to whenever Ace paid him special attention.

"So, what youse wanna do now?"

Snake, the only one who noticed the older boy's hand lingering over the darker green fabric of Billy's threadbare T- shirt just a second too long, felt an odd twisty sensation in his gut. Pulling himself together, he joined the rest of his pack in calling out suggestions, making a mental note to leave mice alone when in Ace's presence from now on.


	3. Special

Grubber's turn, in all his disturbing glory.

And Jack Wednesday ('School House Rocked') gets a cameo. Because he is awesome. A jerk, but still pretty awesome.

Special

The sun shone. The breeze warmed. The ducks beat each other up in an effort to be the first to the bread crumbs that people insisted on throwing at them. Squirrels ran around doing whatever it was that squirrels did on their off days.

The sombre gentleman in the trenchcoat glared at everything that moved.

Jack Wednesday_ liked_ his job. Jack Wednesday did _not_ like the park. Jack Wednesday was not partial to any area in which small children ran around with only trace amounts of adult supervision.

A troupe of boys stood near him, playing with a frisbee. He eyeballed them until they went away.

_The weekend. Huh. A crime against this fine country. An excuse for would-be students to slack off from their duties, indulging in ill-disciplined recreational pursuits. Completely unnecessary. The day I find 'em on my beat is the day they'll regret ever wasting the opportunity to study harder._

Swatting away a butterfly that dared come too close, Wednesday tightened his shoulders and stalked forth. Had the choice been up to him, he would have spent the day rabidly filing reports, pausing only to take bites from a stringy sandwich. Doctor's orders, however, had made it plain that, unless he wanted to die very shortly, a day or two off was in order. Wednesday's lips pressed together; he wasn't a man to ignore the opinions of a medical practitioner. That was stupid. He wasn't a stupid man. He did think, though, that he would be changing shrink as soon as possible.

He headed for a quieter park of the lake, unencumbered by picnic blankets, yapping dogs and idiots with cameras. (Jack Wednesday had a special place in his heart for idiots-with-cameras; a dark, hot place, with lots of sharp things in it). There was exactly one tree left with an empty bench beneath it, situated unpleasantly close to a small, overflowing bin. On the bin read 'Keep Our Town Clean!', a message which several had already chosen to ignore, Wednesday surmised, noting the litter with distaste.

Reaching the bench, his heart sank upon the realization that it was already occupied. Its occupier was sitting in the shade of the tree, hunched over, knees drawn up to his chest. Probably why he hadn't spotted him before. He looked to be anything from sixteen to nineteen; Wednesday, who was normally quite good at judging ages, couldn't tell.

Wait. Wait a minute.

He'd seen this kid before.

His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing his quarry. He was aware that he was staring but the quarry in question didn't seem to care, or even notice. The boy had a vacant expression on his face that looked permanent, and his tongue was hanging out. And, Wednesday now noticed, although the shade had hidden it before, the boy's skin was an unpleasant shade of green. Yes, he had definitely seen this kid before.

"Grubber, right?"

The hunched boy blinked and turned his head to look up at him. For an odd moment, Wednesday felt like a fly being observed by a particularly nasty frog. Then Grubber blew a raspberry at him.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Right. It's Wednesday, Jack Wednesday. You remember. Truant officer."

The faded blue eyes stared up at him with neither worry nor recognition. For all he knew, the kid didn't understand a word coming out of his mouth. Hmph.

"You mind?"

The strangely bulging eyes stared for a moment longer, before Grubber shifted over. Allowed a space, Wednesday sat down. Warm as the day was, he didn't bother to remove his coat or fedora. It was a thing he had.

The kid had returned to staring at the lake. Following his line of vision, Wednesday caught him looking at the ducks.

"You like ducks, kid?"

Again, the stare, this time with no other response. It wasn't often that Wednesday interacted with his detainees when he wasn't busy detaining them. They rarely sought him out to interact with him, beyond spray painting his walls and throwing the occasional brick through his window. But he'd found Grubber hard to forget. He also suspected that he wasn't alone in this.

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

Grubber didn't move. The next moment Wednesday nearly jumped clear out of his skin, as the weird-looking kid replied in his voice.

"None of your business, punk."

The business-like monotone was spot on. Wednesday stared, for once genuinely thrown off balance.

"How…how did you do that?"

"I would advise you not to talk back to your elders. And I can do lots of things."

"…Huh."

Grubber glanced sideways and gave him a big, bone-headed grin before returning to the ducks. Jack found himself fumbling in his pocket for cigarettes, and sat on his hand. He was trying to cut down. Grumbling, he looked at the ducks instead.

_Lookie, there's a brown one. And a white one. And one with green feathers on its neck. All this excitement is just killing me. Hate weekends. Hatehatehatehatehate…._

Why had the boy been hard to forget? There was the matter of his pals, all of whom were a pretty sorry-looking bunch, in Jack's opinion.

_Let's see…a midget, a guy who acts like a snake, a two hundred pound nineteen-year-old with the mentality of a toddler and a guy who wears banana-yellow bell-bottoms as a matter of habit and still thinks he's cool. _

Grubber had, doubtless, been the oddest of them all. A hunchback, dressed in rags that were bound with a piece of rope, despite the fact that all the rest could, at least, get their hands on clothes that sort of resembled clothes. Practically mute, apart from an ability to speak in raspberries that only the other boys had understood. And now, apparently, a mimic too. Cute.

"Where's the rest of your punk pals, kid?"

Again, the pause. This time, Grubber's voice changed completely, from a gruff, inflexible monotone to a smooth, slightly nasal drawl.

"Aaw, c'mon officer, we ain't doin' nothin'!"

After some thought, Wednesday pegged the voice as belonging to Ace, the long-haired punk who'd seem to qualify as the gang's leader. Cute.

"You do lots of those voices, kid?"

"Hundredsssss."

Whispery, snaky, almost snickering…the lizard-kid. Snake, that'd been his name.

"Not bad."

"D'ah, thanks."

_The big guy. They called him…Billy. Big Billy._

"Your parents know you can do that?"

Silence came again, this time because the hunched boy had frozen. As Wednesday looked at him, he returned to staring at the ducks, the glassy, vacant look coming back to his eyes. Bingo.

"Where _are_ your parents? Pretty sure they don't approve of those idiots you follow around."

The lion-like roar was startlingly accurate. It certainly startled Jack. When his pulse rate had slowed down and he had shifted a few inches further away, he nodded. "I'll presume that was a bad question."

They watched the lake. A duckling was being shoved from the bank by its mother. Probably a bit too early, as it immediately began flailing about pathetically, before sinking like a rock. It was saved by a swift manoeuvre from the elder, who proceeded to herd it quickly back to shore. Behind them, the sound of children at play rose. Jack shuddered.

"Say, kid, do you want ice-cream?"

"…Phhbbbt."

"…I'll take that as a yes."


End file.
